


Nice Try, Jarlaxle

by kye_16



Category: Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: Attempted Exhibitionism, Brief fantasy of physical violence, Dildos, Established Relationship, Feet, I almost feel bad for Jarlaxle, I have no idea what I'm doing, Jarlaxle trying to talk Entreri into 'trying things', M/M, almost, just the regular murder kind, not the sexual kind, or how Mav ever gets these two to stfu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-02-23 19:37:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18708640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kye_16/pseuds/kye_16
Summary: Now that Entreri is a little more open to the sex, Jarlaxle hopes to... expand his horizons.It goes about as well as you'd expect.This may turn into a 5+1. We'll see.





	1. The Pillar of Passion

     “So I've been thinking.”

     “Always cause for concern.” Entreri flashed a suspicious look to his left, catching the sly grin on Jarlaxle's face before he resolved it into something marginally more approachable (if less sincere).

     “So hurtful, _abbil_. I have been the architect of many exceptional plans, have I not? Have I not shown you more of this world that you had dreamed I could? Think of the many... _experiences_ we have shared.” He leaned casually against the wall as Entreri began releasing the locks and traps barring the door to their rooms. “Think of how many you have enjoyed.”

     “You wish to discuss some of your previous 'exceptional plans'?” The latch finally clicked, and they passed through, Entreri muttering to the dragon above as they did (“White.”).

     “Come now.” Jarlaxle threw the bolt behind them. His movements took on a much more suggestive tilt as he approached Entreri, one red eye gleaming. “It has not all been bad. In fact, I think you have enjoyed much of what I have given you. I know that _I_ have enjoyed what you have given _me_.”

     “By the nine hells, Jarlaxle, you cannot wink with only one eye.” Jarlaxle grinned devilishly, and Entreri rolled his own eyes in amused disgust. He began pulling off his travelling gear. “Just... whatever scheme you're hatching now, out with it.”

     “It's hardly a scheme. It's merely... a purchase. A gift, if you will, a small item. A simple thing, really.”  
  
     “Jarlaxle...”

     “It's barely even magical.”

     “ _Jarlaxle._ ”

     “And remember: this is not a comment on your own... 'inventory'. Think of it as gaining an extra weapon, rather than having a new blade to replace the one you have.” He swung the overlarge hat off his head with a flourish, and reached into the extradimensional pocket to pull out a suspiciously-shaped object wrapped in fine black cloth. Entreri's eyes narrowed to slits.

     “What. Is. That.” Jarlaxle plunked the object down on the wooden table with a dense _thunk_.

     “Artemis, I know you are still somewhat new to what we do, but surely you recognize the shape.” His grin was teasing, even as Artemis stood stock-still, one leather glove in hand, eyes fixed on the black-wrapped phallus jutting proudly from where he'd planned to take his supper.

     “A dick. You bought... of course you did.” Artemis tugged his glove back on, and reached for his recently-shed cloak.

     “What – now, _abbil_ , hear me out – ”

     “Nothing to hear.” The clasp snapped shut a bit more forcefully than necessary. Entreri turned to stalk toward the door, realizing belatedly that Jarlaxle had positioned himself directly in the way.

     “This is not an insult, my friend. It is a plaything, something for us to enjoy together! Such things are not uncommon, and honestly, it's not so imposing as all that. It's downright modest, compared to yourself. Just look at the little thing.” Entreri glowered at Jarlaxle, the perfect picture of contrition. He did not fail to notice how Jarlaxle had extended his arms, ostensibly a gesture of openness, which also conveniently further obstructed his path to the door. He slid his gaze back to the obscene monument on the table.

     “You say that, and yet...” He pulled his jewelled dagger from its scabbard, and lightning-quick, nicked the fabric off the dildo. It wobbled only ever so slightly, shedding a faint glimmer of light over its immediate surroundings as its stout majesty was unveiled. “... _barely_ magical? It had to _glow??_ ” Jarlaxle's face fell, just a bit.

     “It's just a side effect?” Entreri gave a slight snap of the wrist, sending the black cloth flapping onto Jarlaxle's hat and down over his face.  
  
     “I'd suggest getting your gold back.”

 


	2. These Feet Were Made For Walking, And That's All They're Gonna Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jarlaxle sees an opportunity to introduce Artemis to pleasures further south of his belt than he's used to.  
> Artemis is unhelpful. (No major change, there.)

     There were only so many hours one could trudge over frozen earth in an icy wasteland before one became cold, stiff, and cranky – and not necessarily in that order. Gods knew, Entreri was usually cranky long before anything else (and stiff far later than he ought to be, in Jarlaxle's opinion). The cold was a surefire way to set him into the worst of moods though, and as they threw their shelter together in the dim light of the moon, it was clear tonight would be no exception.

     “You know, _abbil_ , we can get you better magical protection against the elements, if your own is failing you.” Jarlaxle rubbed his hands together, indulging in their magically warming environs as he shucked his travelling gear. He eyed his silent companion on his side of the tent. “If it is your armour linings, we could head back to Heliogabalus. There is no reason to travel in worn gear.”

     “It is late, and I am not in the mood, Jarlaxle.” Everything was in its place, tonight. Entreri's bag was the correct distance from his bedroll, followed by the small folding rack with his damp things set in near-perfect alignment in relation to each other upon it. His night clothes were quite similar to his under-armour travelling clothes in this climate, but he still took each piece out and set them in order, one atop the other, and began to change.

     “Wait.” Jarlaxle reached into one of his many pockets, drawing out a small, understated stone. “It is not warm enough for a bath tonight.”

     “I do not need your magic,” Entreri muttered. “And I will graciously _ignore_ the implication of your offer.” He slid on a long-sleeved woven shirt, thin vines of enchantment shimmering along the seams.

     “This is hardly a comment on your scent, _abbil._ You know I love the way you smell.” Jarlaxle shot him a grin just barely on the other side of innocent, and was rewarded with the barest shake of Artemis's head.

     “Incorrigible.”

     “Flatterer,” Jarlaxle shot back. “Artemis, it's just prestidigitation. It's not going to turn you into a gnoll. And you take forever to sleep when you go to bed sweaty. Come.” He gestured with the hand holding the stone. “It will be seconds. Allow me.” Artemis eyed Jarlaxle contemplatively. He flicked his gaze to the little trinket, tiny runes etched into its face. Then, in one smooth movement, he slid his thumbs into his waistband and dropped his pants.

     Jarlaxle fancied to himself that if it were anyone else, they would not have noticed the way he blinked, trying to keep his eyes on Artemis's own. Artemis did, of course, and gave a smirk and a shake of his head.

     “Predictable.”

     Jarlaxle huffed in visible offence. “I make no apologies for being able to see,” he snipped. His companion continued changing as if he were not even present, and Jarlaxle heaved a sigh. “Put your pants on then, if you must.” He edged closer to Entreri, well within his field of view, and extended a hand. When Artemis did not threaten to remove it, he closed the distance and activated the stone.

     The enchantment tickled over Jarlaxle's skin, lapping gently up his arm as well as out over his companion. He slid it down Artemis's finely-muscled body as he began tidying his clothing and equipment, before finally turning the little device on himself. Artemis folded his clothing, and Jarlaxle waited. He threw his bedroll down, and Jarlaxle toed his boots off and kicked them aside. Jarlaxle was not a man of silence, however, and as Artemis finally sat, he promptly followed suit with a grin.

     “You are too like a dog, sometimes. Always looking for attention,” Entreri grumbled.

     “And you are so very like a bear, _mal'ai_.”

     “Were I a bear, I would not be out wandering the wilds in _this._ ” He gestured about, a sour look on his face. Jarlaxle gave him a commiserating look.

     “Perhaps we have been out overlong, the past few days,” he conceded. “Here. Allow me to make it up to you. Extend your leg.” Entreri gave the barest of squints, a look that would have been more suspicious were he not already sore in body and mind.

     “My... which one? Why?”

     “Either one,” Jarlaxle replied. “And what sinister purpose do you think I could possibly have? I do not mean to abscond with it, I assure you.” He set the enchanted stone next to himself, and extended his hands in invitation. Entreri shuffled, hesitant, before finally extending one leg toward the drow on his bedroll. Jarlaxle stretched the leg toward himself, pulling the foot into his lap, and gently pressed both thumbs into the arch.

     Artemis's lips pinched into a straight line, body going rigid. “That... is my foot.”

     “You don't say.” Jarlaxle pulled the smirk off his lips, resolving his face into something more neutral. “It's not meant to hurt. Does it?”

     “... No.”

     “Then relax, _abbil_ .” He rolled the motion up and through, watching the expression on Artemis's face change. “This is _supposed_ to be pleasant.” Jarlaxle dug his thumbs into the meat of Artemis's foot, keeping one eye on his work and one eye on the reactions he was getting. He took pride in his prowess with the... physical arts, and as Artemis began to lean back on his hands, he suspected he was not the only one who also took pleasure in them. His hands worked the length of the foot, right up to the toes, before scooting closer to work up the lower part of his calf.

     “Pull up a cushion for your head,” Jarlaxle murmured, vaguely amused at the way Entreri's body was sagging in place. Artemis shot him a dirty look, if a toothless one, before casting about for a pillow and dropping himself upon it with an unceremonious thump.

     “I must confess, Jarlaxle, you're not entirely terrible at this.” Artemis smirked at him from the ground as Jarlaxle set his first foot down and gestured for the other (a foot Artemis quite readily provided).

     “No need to be so effusive in your praise,” Jarlaxle teased. “Can't have you seeming to actually _enjoy_ something.” He dug his thumbs in to start again, and Artemis's eyes rolled up, a low sound rumbling in his chest. His hips canted ever so slightly as Jarlaxle worked, his shoulders began to shift against the bedroll, and the drow began to get an idea. He picked up the small enchanted stone from where it still sat beside him. “ _Sserenus.”_

     Artemis's head snapped up off the pillow in a flash, the Drow word catching on his mind like a barb. He opened his mouth, only to choke as Jarlaxle pressed the now-warm smooth little rock against the sole of his foot.

     “A little warning if you're going to use magic would not be remiss,” Artemis snapped, letting his head fall back again.

     “Prestidigitation is the simplest spell, but really, one of the most fun,” Jarlaxle replied, as if he'd not heard him at all. “It has so many _excellent_ uses. Wouldn't you agree?” He gave a smug grin as Artemis failed to reply, radiant heat soaking into his foot as Jarlaxle pressed more firmly. He slid the stone around Artemis's ankle and up his calf, warming the muscle before digging his fingers in, and Artemis melted into a long groan.

     “Gods, but your legs are perfection,” Jarlaxle murmured. Artemis gave a noncommittal hum in return, but otherwise his eyes stayed shut and his head stayed where it was. Jarlaxle's nimble fingers worked their way along tired muscle, kneading and stroking as he worked slowly back to Entreri's foot. There, with all the boldness of a devil lord with contract in hand, Jarlaxle raised the foot up even as he lowered his face to meet it.

     “ _Sseren,_ indeed,” he whispered, the heat of his breath ghosting just along the edge of the arch. “Artemis, _ussta mrann d'ssinss..._ ” Artemis's eyes fluttered open to stare, just as Jarlaxle's tongue flicked out to tease at the remarkably fragile skin of his companion's instep.

     The next thing he tasted was the floor of the tent, walls spinning around him as the pain in his nose finally registered.

     “You – of all the – by the hells, Jarlaxle, what is the matter with you??” Entreri hollered, shuffling over on his side of the tent. Jarlaxle reached for his own face, curling his fingers around the curses running out.

     “ _Me??_ Whad iz dha madder wit _you??_ Ifv you don' enjoy somehing, _kicking someone in dha fvace_ is not the appropriad way to ezpress id!” He wiped at the wet, sticky feeling spreading down his lips, and very pointedly did not comment about how he _could_ have come by that sensation differently.

     “Where do you keep that damned thing, anyway?” Jarlaxle cracked one eye open to see Artemis riffling through his cloak.  
  
     “Up your azz,” he replied unhelpfully, rolling over onto his back.

     “The _orb_ , you fool.” Entreri cocked an eyebrow, holding up a handful of Jarlaxle's clothing. “Where do you keep it?” Jarlaxle sighed, but healing was healing, and he gestured for the appropriate piece. Artemis pitched it to him before stumbling back to his bedroll, and Jarlaxle slid the orb out of one of his myriad pockets.

     “I would argue dhe point, but apparendly it is a fool's errand to try to bring you pleasure,” he muttered, nose slotting back into place as the orb's healing began to wash over him. He levered himself up into a sitting position, glowering at his tentmate.

     “Pleasure? Perhaps I kicked you too hard. Or not hard enough.” Entreri picked up the small prestidigitation stone and passed it to Jarlaxle. “You _licked._ My _foot._ ”

     “Some people enjoy that sort of thing, you know,” Jarlaxle snipped back.

     “It's... it's a foot! It's dirty!”

     “It was literally just cleaned!!” Jarlaxle gestured with the enchanted stone.

     “Still.” Entreri shuffled into his blankets, tucking them in around his legs as he went. Jarlaxle shot him an eyebrow. “Anyway. Well. Time to rest. Long day of trudging through a frozen hellscape again tomorrow.”

     “Yes, well, you can rub your own feet after this,” Jarlaxle told him, still a bit sore. Entreri nestled further into his bedding, rolling away from him without any reply, leaving Jarlaxle with nothing to do but shake his head. He cleaned up the blood with a quick pass of his runestone before slipping both it and the healing orb back away. He returned his clothing to its rightful pile and finally put out his own bedding, preparing for reverie himself. With a silent command, he lowered the lights and began to settle in.

     “The rest of it,” came the quite voice through the dark.

     “The rest of what, Artemis?” Jarlaxle replied.

     “Before the foot thing, the... the rest. It... wasn't bad.” Entreri shifted where he lay. Jarlaxle gave a small grin.

     “ _Abbil_ , you have _no_ idea. You know, if you're interested, next time – ”

     “ _Ugh._ Good _night,_ Jarlaxle.”


	3. Panic! at the Peep Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Artemis isn't that excited about new ways to use his body, but Jarlaxle can still work with that! Surely he'll be able to introduce him to something new to spice up the things he already so clearly enjoys.
> 
> .....  
> How does a man from Calimshan not like spice? HONESTLY.

     Entreri was going to kill his fool of a drow.  
  
     Jarlaxle had been tormenting him almost since the minute they'd left their rooms for the day. Sneaking touches in the market, making quiet comments under his breath, _invading his personal space_. He'd even gone so far as to eat his dinner as lewdly as possible, with far more tongue than was necessary, right there in the tavern. Artemis was either going to stab him, or _stab him_ , and he hadn't entirely decided on which. Of course, he supposed, these need not be mutually exclusive.

     It amused him distantly to realize that Jarlaxle had been suffering the torment of his own actions, as the drow threw his body against Artemis's, pinning them both to the wall in their rooms the moment they got back in. He kissed like a man drowning, drawing breath as Artemis responded to him with teeth and tongue and eager hands. And really, Entreri wondered, where was all his anger now? It dissolved too quickly these days into a very different kind of heat, something which burned in him and threatened to consume, driving him for more as he tore flashy garments from black skin, feeling it scorch against his own.

     He pushed back against Jarlaxle, moving them in the general direction of the nearest bed. Dark fingers entwined with his own, pulling him along at the end of a deceptively strong arm, all toned muscle; a swordsman's arm. Jarlaxle opened the side table, took out the familiar vial of oil, and then... pulled him away from the bed?

     He drew Artemis up flush against him and Artemis heard himself groan as Jarlaxle rocked his hips, body tight and hard and everything he'd come to want. Jarlaxle kept leading him ahead until his own back was against the wall, crushing Artemis to him, panting and rutting, the very picture of wanton desire.

     “Here,” Jarlaxle choked out, practically writhing between him and the wall. “Take me here.”

     “Are you sure?” Artemis mouthed against his jaw, up under his ear, and Jarlaxle whimpered. “It won't be terribly comfortable.”

     “Does it seem to you that comfort is what I am concerned with, just now?” Jarlaxle gave a breathy laugh, which resolved quickly into a smug grin. “Unless you don't think yourself capable, of course.”

     “You honestly seek to challenge me?” Artemis pulled one of Jarlaxle's thighs up against his hip and leaned into him with what bulk he had, grinding his cock up against Jarlaxle's own, revelling in the desperate noises he made. “You will lose.”

     “The difference between losing and winning such a challenge is lost on me, I am afraid,” Jarlaxle replied, grin still mostly intact.

     “As you wish, then.” Artemis backed up, releasing his hold on the drow. “Here. Move to the side, first.” He gestured with one hand to the wooden frame barely a foot away from them. “Window.” Ever graceful, Jarlaxle did exactly as he was bid, and moved to the side.

     “Your _other side_ , Jarlaxle.” Artemis gave him a deadpan look, watching as the drow turned to face the outdoors, stark naked, square in front of the window. Jarlaxle gave him the full force of his most lustful gaze as he stroked one hand along the frame.

     “Is this the side of me you were looking for? It is certainly the side I hope you'll use.” He gave a devilish grin.

     “You know that's not what I meant.” Entreri pointed in the other direction, away from the light of the setting sun.

     “Well, far be it for me to stifle your creativity. Feel free to use any side of me you wish.”

     “Jarlaxle, we are not so far above the streets. Anyone could look up and see... you know... things,” Artemis finished, with a uselessly vague gesture.

     “And therein lies the appeal,” Jarlaxle replied, biting absently at his bottom lip. “Just imagine. So many people, none of them any the wiser. So close they could feel the sweat drip from my brow, if they timed it right.”

     “You're too loud,” Artemis protested. “I'm fairly certain even the deaf would know what was going on.”

     “Ooh, now _that_ sounds like a challenge,” Jarlaxle replied, red eye practically glowing. “You want I should try to keep quiet? Not a word, not a moan, desperate as I may be to scream your name, even as you try to drive such sounds from me?” He arched against the windowframe, clearly imaging exactly that. “I not only accept your challenge, but I shall win, as well.”

     “You can't be serious.” Entreri was looking at him as if he had three heads, instead of just the two. “I... well, that is... I mean... I cannot! You would have an unfair advantage. I would have to be too gentle.”

     “Gentle?” Jarlaxle cocked one white eyebrow.

     “I could not be too vigorous, lest I sent you falling to your death. And while it would be a fitting end for you,” Entreri gave him a pointed look, “it would certainly ruin the moment.”

     Jarlaxle laughed at that, loud and open, looking down even as a passerby looked back up at him. “That is a terrible excuse, _abbil_ , but if it truly concerns you, pass my cloak.”

     “I am not fucking you with that thing on,” Entreri muttered.

     “It wouldn't be the first time,” Jarlaxle replied, amused. “But no, I merely want something from it: the item that allows me to levitate.”

     “You have got to be kidding me.” Artemis pinched his nose, eyes squinted. “You want me to hand you your cloak in case I _fuck you out a window_.”

     “You can always fuck me without it, instead.” Jarlaxle grinned, palming himself idly. He hummed as his hand slid, body undulating ever so slightly, eyes narrowing as they looked into Artemis's own. And Artemis had to admit, the drow knew how to make a spectacle of himself. One leg tilted slightly out, his gaze raking Artemis's body, lips just barely parting as he let a small moan escape.

     But then, this was no serving wench Jarlaxle was toying with, and Artemis was not about to be seduced into something against his better judgment.

     “Bed, now, or that hand is all you'll be getting,” Entreri warned. Jarlaxle paused, measuring the look on his lover's face. He dropped his hand, after a second, and blew out a sigh.

     “You're lucky you're worth it,” Jarlaxle muttered at him, shoving up off the window. Entreri glowered back, incredulous.

     “Then at least one of us will be lucky, tonight,” he snapped, turning on heel and stalking back toward his pants.

     “Oh for – _abbil,_ wait!”

 


	4. Never Made it Off the Starting Line

    Entreri always found it a pleasure when Jarlaxle left him behind. Certainly there was a nagging apprehension to the idea of Jarlaxle gallivanting about unchecked, but once he put his mind to something, Artemis found it was pretty well futile to try to stop him, anyway. At least this way, he could enjoy peace, quiet, and order, while his ever-present sense of disquiet slithered its way through his belly.

    He pulled out his oils and stones, and set to work honing his blades. One pulled from the scabbard at his hip. One from the little wrist-sheath he wore. One from the face of an obnoxiously loud clock (for whose destruction he was _not_ sorry). One from the silhouette of Jarlaxle above his bed.

_Shhing. Shhing. Shhhhing._ Rhythm. Purpose. It was almost meditat--

    “Ahh, greetings, _abbil!_ Have you missed me?” Jarlaxle swept through the door, boots scuffing dirt against the wood floor as he pulled parcels and bags from gods-knew-where on his person. “Ahh, polishing your dagger, I see?” Entreri hung his head.

    “Your timing is as impeccable as ever,” Artemis muttered, wiping his first blade clean. He eyed the length of its edge, pressing it lightly against his thumb.

    “My timing is not my only impeccable trait,” Jarlaxle replied, shooting him that horrid one-eyed wink. “I also have exceptional taste. And _brilliant_ ideas.” He turned to face Artemis, leaning on one hand against the table.

    “No.” Entreri set the blade tip against a second whetstone, testing his angle before pushing it through the oil.

    “You _like_ my ideas,” Jarlaxle teased.

    “No.” _Shhhing. Shhing._

    “Ah, but you'll like this --”

    “No. Whatever you've got up your sleeve, Jarlaxle, the answer is no.” Entreri tested the blade again. Satisfied, he wiped it clean, and set it with its scabbard before picking up the next.

    “Oh, it's not up my sleeve,” Jarlaxle purred, tone heavy with suggestion. “Besides, you don't even know what --”

    “Sex thing.”

    “What --! You don't know that!”

    Entreri looked at him for the first time, gesturing up and down the length of his body with the knife. “Hips,” he pointed. “Angle of your knee. Tilt of your neck. That hand, knuckles back – you want to reach for something you're carrying.” Jarlaxle straightened up, dropping his hands to his sides. Entreri smirked. “Defensive posture. Means I'm right.” He set the knife's edge against the whetstone, directing his attention back to his task. _Shhing_.

    “You don't even know what it is,” Jarlaxle finally managed to insist. “You may well like it.”

    “Nope.” Entreri continued sharpening, strokes measured and even, pressure steady. Jarlaxle watched him for a moment, stewing in the silence. Finally, with a pissy expression on his face, he reached for a pocket behind his back and pulled out a nondescript, yet very familiar wand with a glimmering new inscription. He threw it on the table with a huff.

    “You're no fun, you know,” he grumbled, before turning on heel and stalking back out.

 


	5. Leather, No Lace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one got a little weird... 
> 
> Jarlaxle doubles down.

     Jarlaxle was up to something again. Certainly that could be said of any time he was awake (and a few times he wasn't), but in particular he was up to something that Entreri was sure involved _him_ , and those sorts of plans always put him on edge. They'd been skirting the border of the wasted lands of Anauroch on their way south for days, and the further they got from civilization, the more he'd begun to worry. Jarlaxle was never one to be away from people for long; plants and dirt were so much less fun to manipulate, after all. There was little to amuse him out here but Entreri himself, and the longer he reflected on the possibilities, the more certain he was that Jarlaxle was, without a doubt, up to something.

     Finally, one night, Jarlaxle revealed yet another new magic item: a series of small, colourful spheres kept within a velvet bag.

     “Abjuration magic,” Jarlaxle explained, pulling out one after another as he walked the perimeter of their camp. “Each one adds a different effect, and together with this --” he produced a single silver orb “-- they create a solid web to protect from wanderers, predators, and prying eyes.” He finally placed the silver ball last near the door to their tent, and faint shimmering lines flickered to life around the small camp.

     “Abjuration.” Entreri watched as the little marbles along the perimeter glowed bright before fading from sight entirely. “And you waited until tonight to use them for the first time?”

     “Well... they only have a certain number of charges,” Jarlaxle admitted with a shrug. He dropped next to the campfire, pulling a bottle from one of the many folds of his cloak with a flourish.

     “And you plan to need extra protection tonight?” Entreri narrowed his eyes. The drow waggled his eyebrows – and the bottle of wine – in reply.

     “I thought we might indulge, just a little,” he replied. “And I did not want you to worry.”

     “Worry? Jarlaxle, we are in the middle of _nowhere._ ” Artemis scoffed. “You could be drunk as a lord, and there's not a soul around for you to bother. Well,” he hastily corrected, “aside from the one soul you never _cease_ to bother.”

     “As you say, _mal'ai._ ” Jarlaxle gave him a knowing smirk. “It is good to know you are not concerned.”

     “I never said that.”

     “Did you not?” He passed a generously filled cup to Artemis, and filled his own before resealing the bottle and setting it aside. “A modest vintage, but it's not a mushroom wine, so I didn't think you'd mind.” Entreri eyed the drink suspiciously, watching as Jarlaxle took a mouthful of his own.

     “You don't do modest,” he pointed out.

     “Untrue. I have been known to do modest on many occasions,” Jarlaxle countered. “After all, I've done you.” Artemis rolled his eyes.

     “I am hardly modest.”

     “No, it is humility you struggle with, _abbil._ Modesty, you have in spades.” Jarlaxle took another drink before furrowing his eyebrows at Artemis. “It is not actually bad wine, you know. I wouldn't drink it if it were.”

     Entreri raised his cup, taking the barest sip from it – just enough to wet his tongue. Eyes still narrow, he swiped Jarlaxle's cup from his hand and took a sip from it, as well.

     “You _cannot_ be serious,” Jarlaxle muttered, expression as deadpan as his voice.

     “Of course I can. I am frequently serious.” Artemis passed the wine back, which Jarlaxle all but snatched from his hand.

     “You suspect I am trying to poison you??” he demanded, incredulous.

     “I do not know what I suspect yet,” Artemis replied, taking a longer drink from his own cup. “You weren't lying about the wine.”

     “But you do suspect something of me,” Jarlaxle pressed. He threw back the better part of his drink before reaching for the bottle to top it up.

     “I always do. And I am usually right.”

     “Yet you do not always taste my food for poisons.”

     “No, and perhaps that is my mistake,” Artemis mused with a grin. Jarlaxle _humph_ ed under the brim of his violently purple hat. “You must confess, you _are_ up to something, Jarlaxle.”

     “Didn't you just say I was always up to something?” the drow hedged, avoiding Entreri's gaze. Entreri just shrugged, drinking his wine and watching the fire. He let the silence hang between them, a weight that Jarlaxle was never able to suffer long.

     And oh, how he suffered in the quiet, even after all these years travelling together. It had been so much worse at first, but still he fidgeted, he fussed, he shuffled and hummed and scoffed. He took his hat off and rubbed at his bald head. He shot a look at Entreri's boots where they sat perfectly still against the hard packed earth, and finally, he spoke up again.

     “Even if there were something on my mind, that would not necessarily mean it were a bad something.”

     Entreri shrugged. “Question of perspective.” He nicked the bottle of mediocre wine for a refill.

     “I had _hoped_ to have you in a better disposition when I brought it up,” Jarlaxle admitted.

     “A better disposition.” Entreri cocked a disapproving eyebrow at him. “You mean drunk.”

     “I _mean,_ not assuming the worst of me.” Jarlaxle's gaze was as pointed as his words, but Artemis merely shrugged again and took another drink.

     “You haven't poisoned me,” Entreri replied. He watched Jarlaxle, gaze expectant, and sipped his drink ever so slowly. The drow finally blew out a sigh and leaned forward to talk to the fire.

     “You wanted privacy, so I got you privacy.” Jarlaxle gestured around them at the invisible web of abjuration. “And you seemed to object to... a specific style of plaything.”

     “Oh, gods spare me,” Entreri muttered, covering his face with his hand.

     “So I _did not_ get you another one,” Jarlaxle continued.

     “You dragged us to the middle of... well, I guess they call it 'buttfuck nowhere' for a reason.” Entreri took a deep swig of wine, ignoring the smirk on the drow's face.

     “And while you don't seem to appreciate being surprised by it, I still think you might enjoy a bit of _variety,_ if you take my meaning.”

     “I might enjoy a hot meal and a warm bed, too,” Artemis groused.

     “And a warm bed, at least, I intend to provide.” Jarlaxle waggled his eyebrows, eliciting an unhappy groan. He drew another unfamiliar pouch from a hidden pocket, and Entreri's groan grew louder in protest.

     “Jarlaxle, _whyyy?_ ”

     “Because I want you to _enjoy yourself,_ Artemis.” Back in control of the conversation, Jarlaxle turned to face his companion, firelight flickering off his dark skin and the underside of his hat. “Now, this is nothing big or fancy. It's not even particularly... unconventional. It's meant to be comfortable.”

     “You want to dress me.” Entreri gave him a flat look.

     “Not as such, no. It's just a few things you might consider wearing. For... sensual purposes.” Jarlaxle offered the bag tentatively, hand outstretched. Artemis eyed it with the same look he might give a viper. “They're not even magical.”

     “How generous.” Entreri's tone was dead flat.

     “And they're of exceptional craftsmanship. Just... take a look.” Jarlaxle gestured with the pouch in his hand, still extended. Entreri stared. And sighed. And stared. And finally, grudgingly, he took the proffered sack.

     Jarlaxle's false calm chafed at him as he unlaced the neck of the pouch, ever cautious. “They don't bite.”

     “Not modelled after you, then,” Entreri muttered. He pulled open the edges and reached in, nerves singing an old, familiar tune.

     The first thing his fingers hit was soft, so soft he considered accusing Jarlaxle of lying about the lack of magic. He drew it out slowly to discover it was a long, narrow swath of fabric. It was dark, a fine weave, undoubtedly of the finest calibre. He pulled it through both hands, testing the fabric, wrapping it through his fist once. As much as he hated that the drow continued to try to get him out of his comfort zone, Artemis hated more that he may have hit on something. Of course, that always depended on what Jarlaxle intended to use it for. Entreri looked up to see his guarded expression.

     “And it is...?”

     “Actually, a leather-based textile, if you'd believe it,” Jarlaxle replied. “Made of an animal not commonly used for the purpose. You don't get the same volume of hide, but apparently if you know how to work with it, it makes for --”

     “What is it _for,_ Jarlaxle.” Entreri shot him a pointed look before reaching back into the bag for the next piece. He pulled out two leather cuffs, interlocked on silver rings, and the drow's confidence faltered ever so slightly.

     “Well, it's got many uses, but I'd meant to use it as, well... a blindfold.” Jarlaxle tugged at his earrings, a tell he'd had as long as Entreri had known him.

     Jarlaxle Baenre was uncertain.

     “And you mean to use it on me,” Artemis said, blunt. A statement, not a question. Even so, his attention had slid to the cuffs. If the fabric – well, _blindfold_ – was impressive, these were possibly even more so. They were padded leather with a sturdy stitch that never saw the inner face, lined with a plush fabric that he'd never seen outside the collection of the wealthiest pashas. A series of silver rings lined the outside, stitched into the body of the cuffs. They were wide but angled, and designed to shut on sliding buckles – made to fit, and fit well. There was no doubt these were a custom job, or near to it, and the weight left in the bag told him they were not the only piece in there. The collection had to have cost a tidy sum.

     “I mean to make the offer.” Jarlaxle's tone was cautious, level. “I know you have had... a colourful past. I know that there is much in this world that makes you uncomfortable. But I mean to break that pattern, not conform to it.” He gave a very familiar grin, and Entreri felt his traitorous pulse skip at the sight. “I have taken us far from spies or danger. These are items of the highest calibre, and though I know they are restraining, they would not hold you if you did not wish it. They are for us to play with, together, as we see fit.” Jarlaxle's face softened, as much as it ever could. “These are not to hold you back, my _khal'abbil_. They are meant to set you free.”

     Entreri let himself breathe deep of the night air, the dark cooling rapidly around them. He rubbed the blindfold in one hand.

     “You have though much on this,” he murmured.

     “I have,” Jarlaxle replied, tone and body language guarded.

     “You have gone to no small expense.”

     “What is money?” The drow gave a shrug. “It is a means to secure that which may have meaning. It is, in itself, otherwise worthless.”

     Artemis paused. He searched Jarlaxle's face, rubbed the leather strapping between his hands. “You know, Jarlaxle,” he finally confessed, “every once in a while you still manage to surprise me.” Jarlaxle's eyebrows peaked ever so slightly, a pleased tilt alighting on his lips.

     “Does this mean you are interested, then?

     Entreri laughed, a short sound, harsh from lack of use. “Not while the sun still rises on the sands of Calimshan, my friend.”

 


	6. Great Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Entreri finally acquiesces.

     “So I've been thinking.”

     Jarlaxle peered up under the brim of his hat at Entreri, quill paused mid-sentence. It was unlike his companion to break silence – it was his favourite sound after all, to judge by how often he lamented its absence.

     “This is not so rare,” Jarlaxle replied, voice cautiously neutral. Artemis sat on the side of one bed, fiddling with the drawstrings on an old travelling pouch. The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.

     “There is much about you I do not understand, and suspect I never will,” he began. “You wear strange things. You enjoy the most irritating people. You play these... unfathomably tedious games.”

     “More charming than usual, today,” Jarlaxle muttered. He set his quill down and sat back, crossing his arms.

     “ _However,”_ Artemis continued, “just because I do not understand your ideas, it does not mean they are all without merit – as you are ever quick to point out.” He continued to toy with the pouch in his lap, expression inscrutable. “And by the hells, you are a persistent man.” Jarlaxle's mouth began to curl in a grin.

     “Some may consider that a positive quality,” he pointed out.

     “Yes, well _some_ do not have to live with you,” Entreri retorted. He took a deep breath. “What I mean to say is... well, I have considered your... _suggestions._ And I _may_ be amenable to one of them.” The drow's eyebrows shot up, even as Entreri added a hasty, “With one condition.” Jarlaxle set his fingertips against the parchment he'd been writing on, sliding it to the side and leaning forward to fold his hands on the table.

     “I'm listening.”

     Entreri looked down again to the modest leather pouch. With a couple quick tugs the knot fell loose, and the neck fell open. One dark hand reached in, and out slid a long, smooth, length of black fabric – a leather-based textile, if Jarlaxle's eyes did not deceive him. Artemis set the rest aside on the floor.

     “It truly is a lovely material,” he conceded. He wound the strap once around his hand, teasing it through the fingers of the other as his gaze turned up, catching Jarlaxle's. “I can see why you were drawn to it.”

     “I do have fine taste,” Jarlaxle replied, almost to himself. One corner of Artemis's mouth twitched up.

     “My condition is this: that you do the wearing.”

     Jarlaxle paused, head cocking slightly to the side. “If that is your condition, then I believe you have misunderstood my goal, _abbil._ I wish for you to try new things.” He pointed at the blindfold in Artemis's hands. “I have worn such things in the past; and you, I dare say, have made quite good use of my body before. There is nothing new to this.” He raised his own hands defensively as one of Entreri's eyebrows quirked up. “Which is not to say this would not be fun, of course, nor to say that I would not – will not – enjoy it thoroughly.”

     “Ah, but I disagree,” Artemis countered. He rose to his feet and, with his characteristic slow grace, he advanced on Jarlaxle. “I have never tried any such games in the bedroom before. I have never used a blindfold on someone. Well...” He gave a slight grin, coming around the table to stand next to Jarlaxle's chair. “Not for such purposes, anyway.” The drow turned, spreading his legs for Artemis to stand between them, making no attempt to hide the way his gaze roved over the man before him.

     “I suppose I can accept such an interpretation,” he murmured. Artemis reached out, tracing the lines of Jarlaxle's face with the cloth wound around his hand. His fingers slid over Jarlaxle's lips and the drow opened them, tongue teasing out ever so slightly.

     “Truly magnanimous,” Artemis replied with a deep chuckle. He stepped back, pulling Jarlaxle with him by the collar of his shirt. Oh, and he went willingly, hands reaching out to tug at Entreri's leathers even as he was dragged across the room. It may not have been what he'd intended, but the rising heat in Artemis's eyes more than made up for it. He had no idea, Artemis, what a picture he painted; the careful, precise movement, his characteristic intensity turned to sexual purpose... Jarlaxle's skin burned where Entreri's eyes raked over, demanding touch, demanding tribute. Tribute, it seemed, Artemis was willing to give.

     Clothing hit the floor before Jarlaxle hit the bed. Ever efficient, his human was. Boots, leather, and cloth fell as an inelegant trail behind them. He slid out of his pants last, shimmying against the bed before kicking them unceremoniously to the side. Artemis crawled over top of him, wearing nothing but the leather strap around his hand, and Jarlaxle let his body writhe up against soft fur and taut muscle. _Mmm_.

     Oh, and he was responsive, Artemis was. He let his weight settle against Jarlaxle, every hitched breath and tremor speaking volumes against his skin. He took one slender, pointed ear between his lips, and it fired down Jarlaxle's nerves like a shot. Artemis groaned ever so quietly, an admission as much as an enticement, and Jarlaxle heard himself echo it.

     And by the gods, hands were just inefficient sometimes; or at least they were, when one had only the two. Shoulders, ass, hair, thighs, and of course the dick warm and stiff against his own, every part of Artemis was somewhere Jarlaxle could toy with, could tease and tug and test. And yet... He reminded himself, somewhat distantly, that this was not today's game, was it?

     “You can be an extremely persuasive man, _abbil,_ ” he murmured, sparing a hand to run it up Artemis's right arm – the one holding the wrap. He felt Artemis shift against him, his face... was that a smirk, against his skin?

     “An old skill,” came the reply, breathed out hot against his neck. Artemis levered himself up on his left, sparing a heated look for his lover before rolling onto his side. “Here.” He nudged at Jarlaxle. “Over.”

     Jarlaxle did follow the order, mostly. He rolled to the same side as Entreri, before sliding back flush against him. One hand slid back to hold Artemis's hip as he ground back.

     “Dangerous for a man like you to allow himself to be blindfolded,” Artemis muttered, his breath coming heavy.

     “A risk I am occasionally willing to take,” Jarlaxle replied, a hair more smug than perhaps was wise. But then, Entreri was curling his hips against him in return, and the hand he was snaking along Jarlaxle's body seemed almost indecisive in its direction. It settled for moving up, letting the soft band of fabric unwind and trail along his skin until it sat across his neck.

     “Incorrigible.” Artemis's voice was thick as honey in his ear, deep and rumbling, sending shivers down Jarlaxle's spine. The drow let his body answer for him, writhing and teasing and _waiting_ , ever waiting and wanting for Entreri to make his move. He finally tilted forward against the pillow, resting his forehead against it, exposing the back of his neck to (as his brain suddenly saw fit to remind him) a world-class assassin. A fresh shiver shot through him, the foolish risk going straight to his prick.

     Surely, Artemis Entreri wouldn't kill him where he lay. He was still much too valuable for that.

     Still, as Jarlaxle felt him prop himself up to access both hands, as he felt those strong, dexterous fingers play along his throat, it was all he could do not to rut like an absolute novice. It would be nothing for Artemis to wrap those fingers around his windpipe. He could be pinned to the bed, naked and terribly compromised, most of his inventory scattered about the floor and woefully out of reach. Never without his tricks, Artemis would say, but to have to use them here, now...

     The fabric slid up his jaw, tension in it now as Artemis got a grasp of the tail. He slid it up Jarlaxle's face, letting it glide along his lips. The _tease_. His knee slid out unbidden, holding his body above the mattress at enough of an angle that it was just the tip of his dick against the sheet; another tease, just another minor torment to add to the pile. How easy it would be for Artemis to crush him here, now. How easy he was making it. He felt Entreri lean in to him, breath hot against his ear.

     “Jarlaxle.” Oh, and how he drew the name out in that rich tone, like dragging it over gravel, like absolute liquid sex. His own mouth fell open against the cloth, thoroughly amused and panting against it.

     “You never say my – _mmphghhm?_ ”

     The fabric jerked tight into his open mouth, and fast as his eyes shot open he could feel Entreri flipping it into knots. He pushed up off the bed with his splayed leg, only to feel Artemis drop his own hips with a chuckle, buying himself an extra few seconds to cinch the new gag in place. Jarlaxle shot an angry glare back over his shoulder, only to be rewarded with a couple patronizing pats on the cheek. Entreri was full-on grinning at him. Grinning!

     “You know Jarlaxle, I don't say this often, but I think you may have hit on something, here. This was an _excellent_ idea.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The +1 rather got away from me... thanks to Maverocknroll for nudging me back at it. :)
> 
> Not edited terribly well, as I didn't want to get mired down in this chapter again. Feel free to share any suggestions or point out any mistakes. Hope it's been fun!


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